


The Mess We've Made

by snidgetsong



Series: Stories from a Bad Writer [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Decisions, Diary/Journal, Gen, Hermione Granger Being a Know-It-All, POV First Person, Post-Hogwarts, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Stream of Consciousness, Teacher Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snidgetsong/pseuds/snidgetsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was with great remorse that I found myself sitting down to pen my memoirs. I'd lost a bet, a foolish wager, with a dear friend, and her idea of proper humiliation was to witness my recollections shared with all those who'd punish themselves by reading. And so I begin my first story: how Draco Malfoy came to teach Muggle Studies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mess We've Made

We were in the process of rebuilding. Not that tedious post-war business that no one wants to speak of anymore, but rather, we were rebuilding the curriculum at Hogwarts a good ten years later. 

That summer was particularly balmy and tempers were running high. Minerva spent as much time in her cat form sniffing catnip as she spent sitting around the staff table attempting to maintain control. 

If I'm to be completely honest, we were mostly jealous of Minerva because we wished we had such an easy escape for ourselves. And to be fair, we behaved badly. After the third duel, Hermione Weasley née Granger banned Firewhisky from the staff room. 

But I'm getting a bit off course. The problem with revamping the curriculum was that no one wanted to admit that our social experiment had failed.

As many might expect, shortly after the war Muggle Studies was declared a required subject for all students born to two wizarding parents. And a fresh, new Wizarding Studies was constructed, by the aforementioned Hermione, to better educate and assimilate non-wizard born students. 

We meant well. We did. But ten years later, we were wringing our hands still in the midst a divided society. We had to admit that a decade of forced learning had failed to reach those who did not want to be reached. 

We were at our wit's end. How to fix what seemed irreparably broken? How to unite those who delighted in the splinters within our society?

Poor Hagrid, he caught a good deal of Hermione's ire that summer. He'd insisted on co-teaching the Wizarding Studies class. And Hermione, in her youthful zeal, had heartily agreed, as she'd believed that having a half-giant represent another race -with the best possible impression- would only encourage new students to follow _her_ heart and embrace different species as equal.

She'd forgotten how frightening, despite his gentleness, Hagrid could be. What's more was that she didn't feel she needed to supervise his instruction days. Her trust in him was absolute. 

I can't fault her good heart, but she was far too clever to simply hand over wide-eyed eleven-year-olds to Hagrid with no questions asked. If there is anyone who I hold responsible for Hagrid's inadvertent torment of children, it's Minerva and Filius.

After a week of watching Hermione tear into Hagrid, listening to Hagrid wail about trying his best and the rest of us threatening to retire to the Hog's Head if we didn't move on, Minerva and Filius finally admitted that following the war (and the implementation of Wizarding Studies) they'd had an unusually high number of younger years complaining of night terrors.

And despite their many combined years of teaching, both chalked it up to war fallout, and like Hermione, neither wondered just what Hagrid was telling those children about the wizarding world. 

Because let's face it, Hagrid's a good bloke. But every good bloke won't make a good teacher. I was not exactly popular when I let that one slip out, but it did give Hagrid a bit of a reprieve when my colleagues' emotional reactions, intensified by the heat, focused themselves onto me.

I took that time to point out that Hagrid wasn't to blame. He sniffled and went on about how fair I was being to him, but I stopped that soon enough. I told him he should never have been teaching that class to begin with because he just wasn't impartial enough. Said the same to Hermione, who at the time she wrote the course, thought she knew best about everything. 

Neither of them had possessed the desire to listen properly to the students. Let me tell you, crickets would have sounded like thunder in that room for all the quiet I caused. 

I'll concede that Hermione put together a decent class for Wizarding Studies. The problem was that she only knew what she could learn from books and as with any culture, the best bits never get written down. 

Had she been as trusting towards wizardborns as she was in her research skills, we wouldn't have had non-wizardborn alumni making social gaffs at the latest Ministry parties. No, she'd accidentally made a mess of it. 

So I said what needed to be said to a room filled mostly with half-bloods and Muggleborns. We needed a pure-blood to correct the Wizarding Studies curriculum—someone who knew the nuances of our society that we didn't know, even after spending almost our entire lives here.

My suggestion was as well received as expected. They turned on me as one. Finally, able to unite on something: my betrayal. Thankfully, I'd been subjected to that sort of hoard mentality before and was prepared to state my case, despite their ears closed in anger. 

We co-existed with witches and wizards who were unwilling to break from the secrecy of their culture because we had done a crap job at attempting to learn it. Those same witches and wizards were right to be suspicious of us, to consider that we might destroy all they held dear. 

We hadn't made any genuine gestures of good faith towards them to prove we wanted wizarding culture to remain strong. We'd created a class –about them- without asking for their input. We then set about teaching children what we thought they should know, nothing more. 

That was our mistake. That was where we went wrong with our social experiment. Flawed data would only provide flawed results. Was it any surprise that wizardborns didn't embrace us as part of their world? We still saw ourselves as separate. 

For that argument, I earned some speculative looks, but at the end of the day, I was ostracized to the end of the Head Table with no one on either side of me for the first time since I'd joined the staff. I felt their immature reaction only reinforced my point.

So the next day, I spelled the back of my robes to say _Keep the peace. Don't speculate on the truth._ Minerva frowned, Hermione huffed and Hagrid just shook his head sadly. 

I'd learned a thing or two about persecution since I took on the post for History of Magic. Both the wizarding and Muggle worlds have a long relationship with it. And my determination to have my opinion considered by them persevered, knowing as I did that we'd been guilty of discrimination.

I held my head high as I was ignored through breakfast. If they wouldn't view my opinion as a possible solution, I'd shame them into admitting that they were being as obstructive as Voldemort's false Ministry had been. 

They could shun me but they'd never get me to back down. I remained a Gryffindor through and through, even if I had got old enough to see the obviousness of my past mistakes. 

After all, no one ever said a Gryffindor couldn't grow wise . . . the trick is living long enough to manage it! I jest, of course, but I have put too many of my housemates to rest much too soon to deny that we tend to be a bit on the reckless side. We're the fighters, the brave who jump in front of danger, and that comes with a cost.

Again, I digress, though babbling has long been one of my signature traits. You'll have to bear with me when I go off like that. 

I was being punished by my friends and colleagues for daring to tell them they'd been hypocrites. No, I'll likely never learn tact. But that's the gist of it. We'd been so caught up in correcting all the wrongs that Voldemort had carried out that we lost sight of the fact that we were flawed humans as well. 

I'll admit that it was a bitter pill to swallow the day I realized what had happened. And I took no joy in being the voice of reason; although, I'll admit that I did enjoy getting to be a bit of an arse again. Maturity can be surprisingly boring.

The rows turned ugly when I mentioned the word hypocrite. You'll not find an angrier sort than a Gryffindor with wounded pride. But it needed to be addressed. If we were to give our wizarding children the acceptance and future that we all stated they deserved, then we had to work through our baggage.

Hermione was the first to crumble, and it broke my heart to see her so hurt. She was a witch who strove for perfection and acknowledging that she'd failed so spectacularly was very difficult for her. Still, her belief was crucial to my plans.

She'd no doubt work with whomever we acquired to rewrite the course, and if she wasn't on board, she'd be a hindrance. Hermione in 'cause mode' would put off pretty much any moderate pure-blood that we could persuade into working for Hogwarts.

Once she admitted that her access to resources limited the amount of information that she could pass on; one by one the other members of staff came to accept that we were going to have to court someone who many might still consider an enemy.

The following week we ironed out what we wanted to add to the course. There was a general consensus that if we had an idea of what we needed then it would make approaching the best suited witches and wizards easier. 

Oh, the joyful innocence that's as clear as day when we glance back in retrospect. As our list of information grew, we came to accept that we needed someone steeped in pure-blood culture, someone with manners beyond reproach and the respect of the other pure-bloods. The list of acceptable candidates was very short.

There was not a single individual that met with unanimous approval. It reaffirmed just how much prejudice lingered among us. I took the time to point it out and naturally, a new name was added to the list. A name that many in the room thought that I'd never accept; thereby, proving my own ingrained prejudice. 

I'll admit that I cringed inwardly when I heard his name. I'd never liked the boy, hated the teen and was quite comfortable with casual indifference for the man. But this wasn't supposed to be about me or my feelings. 

If Draco Malfoy could be the wizard who changed the future of our students, then I owed them the chance. I could and would set aside my personal feelings and look at him objectively as a contender. 

And that is how I found myself at the threshold of Malfoy Manor, a place that I never wanted to see again, having visited the ancient home far too many times in my nightmares. 

As I knocked upon the door, I knew that this would be a test of wills. Draco would not have forgot all the social snubs that I'd given him over the years while he was attempting to rebuild the Malfoy name. 

At the time, I'd thought myself generous. After all, I hadn't actively tried to portray him or his family in a bad light… I simply wasn't willing to assist him on his climb towards being society's most darling wizard.

Slytherins such as Draco, ignore the snub in the moment, pretending to be above such pettiness, but within their hearts they're etching a mark against you and promising to deliver comeuppance when the time is right. 

Knowing that I'd been petty left me fearful that my time to pay had arrived, because I was about to ask a huge favor of Draco Malfoy. I had to convince him to share the code, the unspoken language of the pure-bloods. 

Surely, there would be some sort of punishment for doing so, or so I assumed. I expected resistance, insults or condescension intermixed with snide remarks about how we'd finally come to realize that we needed his superior knowledge. 

I was working up my courage to take his rejection with grace, even as he was opening the door to invite me inside. Let no one say that Draco Malfoy has anything less than the best of manners.

He smiled warmly, though the warmth didn't reach his eyes, and he led me to an inviting study. A much nicer room than the dungeons had been, that was my first thought. Thankfully, I didn't blurt that out.

He asked after my health and to my surprise, Minerva's as well. That gesture made my opening gambit feel natural. So I wasted no time telling him that I was there on behalf of Hogwarts and that Hogwarts needed his help. 

His reaction was not what I expected. He snorted! Laughed in my face, the great prat, well, it was a laugh for a Slytherin. I'd been laughed at by Snape enough to recognize it for what it was. 

"So, the all-knowing Hogwarts' faculty has finally realized that there's not a single pure-blood among them. Not even Longbottom wants to be a part of your disaster."

I flinched. It was true that Neville had refused to come back to teach, but I'd thought it was because he wanted to run his own business and enjoy his young family. Surely, there wasn't more? Neville would have said. Wouldn't he?

Certain that Draco was simply trying to toy with my confidence; I admitted that we had no pure-bloods on staff, but it wasn't a deliberate thing. It just sort of happened.

Draco nodded, politely, and then asked, "So you want me to change that and teach?"

My jaw dropped. I looked foolish; I know I did because I've seen myself in a Pensieve. I floundered because I wasn't authorized to offer him a job. We only wanted to enlist his help in rewriting the course. 

"Actually, we were hoping that you'd help us revamp the Wizarding Studies class. It's lacking some important material and, we felt that only someone who'd grown up in wizarding society would be privy to all the particulars."

For the first time, Draco frowned. "You want me to help you, but you don't think I'm good enough to keep on the staff?"

I sputtered and had to admit, at least to myself, that I could understand why he would think that. "No, it's only we didn't think you'd want to teach. It never occurred to us that you would be willing to offer more than temporary guidance."

Draco sat back and steepled his fingertips. "I don't think that I can allow my name to be put upon your course and walk away. You have to understand that I've worked hard to rebuild my reputation. And I'm sad to say that Hogwarts' isn't terribly popular with the pure-bloods these days." 

I was surprised. Not that Draco would be concerned about his reputation—that was given, but that the pure-bloods disliked us. We must have been more outside their circles than we realized.

"What can we do to change that?" I asked, for the first time genuinely concerned.

Draco leaned forward. "Acknowledging us is a good start. But you're going to have to give us more than a token gesture. Have Minerva hire me to teach Muggle Studies."

All hope of hiding my horror was lost. "You can't be serious! What do you know about Muggles?"

Draco smirked and sat back again. "More than you or anyone at Hogwarts knows about pure-bloods, but that hasn't stopped you from teaching what you don't know. I wouldn't want the job if I couldn't perform to standards. Surely, you know that much about me."

I rubbed my hands over my face, upsetting my glasses. "Is this because I didn't help you after the war?"

Once again, I was gifted with the Slytherin version of laughter. Then he drawled, "Potter, society is a delicately maneuvered vessel that you couldn't hope to steer. I never needed you." 

And in that moment, I knew it was true. I knew that Draco Malfoy had been more successful than me. I'd received glory in my life; hell, I'd bled and sacrificed for it, but I hadn't worked for it the way that Draco had worked for his after the war.

I'll admit now that it was humiliating to have that conversation with Draco. I was much more comfortable with him being the fumbling, angry daddy's boy than a self-assured, successful man. 

I looked at him with new eyes and admitted that I wished that I'd shed my Boy-Who-Lived persona as well as he'd managed to be rid of Junior Death Eater. 

A child entering the wizarding world upon hearing the name Draco Malfoy wouldn't immediately associate the name with his teenage mistakes. He'd made enough headlines with his charity and volunteering.

I couldn't even use the old 'but he has money' excuse, because I had money as well. I could have focused on making a new identity for myself. Instead, I studied what I hadn't known in hopes of making certain that another Tom Riddle didn't become another Lord Voldemort. 

I don't regret my choices. I've done a lot of good and I won't deny that, but a part of me was jealous that Draco was freed of his past in a way that I could never be. 

I had no choice. We needed Draco and I had the task of convincing the remainder of the faculty that in exchange for his help with Wizarding Studies that he be allowed to take the position of professor for Muggle Studies. 

With a shake of his hand, I left dreading the inevitable fights but secretly delighted that my colleagues plan to put me in my place had magnificently backfired. It had taken me years, but that was the day that I accepted that Draco Malfoy could be a damned good ally in mischief. And as it happens, he turned out to be an outstanding Muggle Studies professor, too.


End file.
